


Ships passing at midnight

by reefofhappiness



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reefofhappiness/pseuds/reefofhappiness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red Arrow’s tendency to work completely solo bites him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ships passing at midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, we are still in the middle of my "continuously writing about non-consensual sexual situations" phase. Warnings for rape, drug withdrawal, and highly nonlinear timelines.

Roy feels like the same weak little kid he was when Ollie took him under his wing, dragging himself across the floor scanning for a glimpse of white. His pupils are blown wide open already from the drugs and the shock, so the darkened room proves no challenge. His pragmatic approach, once he actually _thinks_ about it, almost brings him to tears, so he tucks those thoughts away for later, for when he can afford them. The tang of blood is not so fresh in his mouth, the pain not so intense with unexpected newness, and now there is the bitterness of bile in the back of his throat too. 

But he is strong, he has to be, he tells himself, to keep his head in the situation. He drags his tied up legs behind him across the floor, crawling forward with his elbows, and looks. 

After an eternity he finds it, and carefully reaches for the bloody tooth with both his hands, bound together at the wrists, and grinds his thumbs so hard against the crown that it cracks in two. That makes Roy smile a little, wince a little because _shit ow_ is his first reaction to the muscles and skin of his face moving, and he gathers up the remnants of the pearly tooth and bloody root and holds it as close as he can as he waits.

(But let’s rewind.)

 

\--

 

Roy sucks on the binding on his wrists to keep the gasps at bay. He refuses to give them that kind of satisfaction.

He’s bent kind of weird because of the way the bondage is tied at his joints and he’s a little fuzzy – thought-wise – perception-wise – focus-wise – because he’s been drugged. But these distractions do nothing to damper the experience or his rage. He wants to wiggle free and snap all three of their necks.

Captor number one is holding up his lower half at the knees, while captor number two makes sure he doesn’t slip to the floor by keeping his torso and chest upright. Captor number three, who is probably the ring leader, has his wide hands on the skin of Roy’s hips. The touch doesn’t shock him: he’s fresh from bearing the blunt force of the man’s fingertips widening him open, Roy can’t be shocked anymore by the pervasive invasion.

“Such a lonely little boy, huh?” He’s saying, lining them up, and Roy futilely attempts to arch away and out of their grasps. The two captors tighten the hold, and the third reaches up carefully for his face and tweaks his left cheek. It’s a good thing for his attempts to appear unperturbed that he’s already got his mouth occupied gnawing out his stress and pain, because _that_ hurts. But he still can’t help but to curl a little more into himself and lose focus on getting away.

“I mean, no friends to come get you…you won’t be missed, will you?” These words are accompanied by him fully entering Roy with a deep and hard thrust. Roy chokes on saliva and blood, and works hard to keep breathing through his flared nostrils.

There is blinding friction between him and the man and, if anything, it makes Roy madder. He will kill them when he gets the chance, after this is over he’ll track them down and torture them and make them wish they’d never been born.

He takes that emotion and concentrates on it, projects himself out of every other part of himself except the undercurrent of anger pulsing endlessly. Dimly, in the background, there’s the rhythmic slap of skin and pain all over and hot breath puffing right against his left shoulder blade, but Roy won’t be part of that because there’s no strength to be found there, and he needs all of his drive to get out of this.

 

\--

 

Roy isn’t even aware of the fact that he’s passed out until he wakes to Ollie’s cool and cautious fingers on his brow.

“Th’ hell,” Roy mumbles, words slurring on the blood clotting in his mouth and the drugs in his body. “Where’ve you been? How long ‘s been?” Because, seriously, he is a true class act and he _knows_ it.

“I didn’t get the distress call until – well, until it was too late, and then I had to figure out if it was actually from you. And _where_ you were.” There’s a little too much relief, that Roy still needs Ollie around, that Roy actually reached out for help, in Ollie’s voice. More than Roy would like and normally, in any other situation, he’d call him out on it.

“Shut up,” Roy grits out instead, and that’s about the last thing he remembers up until he wakes up in the hospital.

Ollie’s still by his side as a gentle reassuring presence then too.

(But let’s rewind.)

 

\--

 

Roy remembers his back left molar first when he wakes tied up and unable to move. Instinct.

Then he remembers that there are no orders now, that he is his own man, boss, back up, everything. That might be the main problem here.

Back left molar, his conditioning, those years of training, whisper to him, just bite with the intent to crack it open, and – 

But it’s gone. They’re smarter than he gives them credit for – which is basically the explanation for how he’s managed to screw up so royally and get himself caught, overestimating himself and underestimating the enemy. Now Roy’s realizing this because they must have scanned him for bugs and tracers while he was out from the strongest brunt of the drugs. There is no reason otherwise for them to go so obviously for his teeth, and they didn’t even have to courtesy to do it kindly: the fire building with each passing second in his mouth and the rusty and bloodied pliers on the floor next to him tell Roy exactly that. No more back left molar. 

Roy can feel a small bubble of panic rising in his chest that he works on pushing down, because now he doesn’t even have the choice.

Instead of succumbing, Roy struggles against the binding, bites the hand trying to tenderly cradle his face to get a good look at him. He only regrets his choice because of the vibration this sends through his jaw, paining him. It also earns him a punch in the face he can’t block, not with how he’s trussed and tied like a holiday bird, waiting to be devoured. But like hell he’ll take the easy way out.

“Fuck you all,” Roy manages to growl out, the clang of teeth this results in reminding him – 

There’s a new hand in his hair, yanking his head back at an awkward angle, and then the hand cupping his face returns, fearless. Roy isn’t a coward, he looks them in the eyes and dissects the situation. Three guys, and they have this voracious kind of expression on their faces. And Roy knows he opposes no real, immediate threat to anyone like this, sedated and bound up. _Shit_ he curses internally, mind racing with so many thoughts of the ways this can turn out. None are good.

“Hm,” comes an appraising voice, and it’s not like Roy has to have it spelled out where this is going. He’s pretty smart, he’s seen enough in his life to put two and two together to get the goddamn four out of the equation.

 

\--

 

It turns out that Roy has to go through detox after his dental surgery is over. This does not seem so bad initially, when he is still hopped up on painkillers for his mouth. He sleeps off the trauma in Ollie’s guest room – really his old room – and as much as he hates to admit it, the familiarity of the room and bed and pillows is comforting.

This without resistance surrender to stay under Ollie’s care ends as soon as he wakes up nauseous and irritated and off medication.

“Screw you screw you screw you,” Roy chants in response to Ollie’s stupid _stupid_ questions. “Stop trying to play psychiatrist, stop trying to be my father, just _stop_.”

Ollie’s face is set with determination and sadness. “I just want to help you get through this.”

There’s a desperate want clawing at his insides, bursting into realization as spots of light in his vision and shooting pain behind his eyes. Whatever it is they pumped into him to keep him docile was strong, and there was too much of it in him, judging by the extremity of his withdrawal. “Yeah, well I’m just as much of a hero as you are, so you don’t have to worry about me breaking down because they got a little too _friendly_.”

“This isn’t about being strong or experienced or ready, Roy. You were raped, anyone would be – ”

A pang of anger flashes so hot and for just a moment Roy feels that breath on his shoulder blade and he roars incoherently in frustration as he claws at the sheets. “ _Fuck fuck fuck_ …” He repeats as a low snarl because this is sensation overload, this is _fucking stupid_.

“Watch your mouth,” Ollie admonishes wearily, like this is just a normal day, back when Roy was underage and stared at Ollie with the stars in his eyes. “Shh shh, you’re fine.”

Roy grabs at the air wildly, and when Ollie gathers his hands carefully into his own for a moment Roy wants to strangle him too.

There is wetness on his face, a mixture of sweat and maybe tears –

Oh god that want inside him, it’s killing him, clouding his senses and he just _needs_ – just a _little_ – 

And his mouth feels foreign and cottony and raw. He’s chewing at the inside of his cheek, feeling agony and misery and overwhelming tiredness, and Ollie takes one hand off Roy’s to pat his cheek softly. “Don’t do that, you’re healing.”

“I can’t do this,” Roy croaks out, yanks his hands away, feeling somehow both more and less lucid right now than ever before. “I – god, I’ll, I’d go back in – in a heartbeat – ” He hears his own words and it’s a little disgusting, that he’s really this weak once he’s stripped of his pride.

Ollie’s hushing him again, offering from the bedside table a glass of water that Roy refuses determinedly. “You don’t mean that.”

And he doesn’t, but the drugs circulating slowly out of his system are a seizing heat in his veins. He pants for breath as Ollie wipes his forehead with a damp cloth and wants this endless moment to – 

 

(But let’s rewind.)

 

\--

 

Roy glares at Ollie, as the Green Arrow, on his doorstep. “I’m not filling you in on my plans. I’m working solo, and I’ll go to the _League_ if I need help executing something.” He knows Ollie gets the silent _the League, not you_ by how he flinches.

“Roy – ”

“It’s Red Arrow.”

Ollie pauses, tensing, then sighs. “Look, even the League members have backup. We tell others where we’re going and what we’re doing in case anything goes wrong.”

Roy crosses his arms, resolutely standoffish. “I am completely aware of these procedures from your lectures to me as a _sidekick_ who believed he would one day be a part of the League. What’s your point and why are you trying to bring it up to me now?”

Ollie sighs again. “I’ve been hearing some rumors about what you’re doing – _who_ you’re hunting down and how. I can tell which crime ring you’re trying to take down alone, and it’s dangerous. I’m worried.”

Roy’s had enough of this. He shoulders his way past Ollie, scoffing. “Well don’t be. And don’t come loitering around my place again, or we _will_ have a problem.”

Roy hears Ollie call after him as he leaves, but he’s not about to turn around. He can handle things fine on his own – at least he takes himself seriously.


End file.
